


One Decent Man

by IWaitWithWatson



Series: One Decent Man [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2009!Dean - Freeform, 2014!Cas, Endverse!fic, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kinda sad but ends on a happy note, M/M, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWaitWithWatson/pseuds/IWaitWithWatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Launched into the horrifying future of 2014, Dean learns about the interesting 'development' in his relationship with Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Decent Man

_So I came upon a shanty town_

_full of bitter men,_

_where carved into a crude wood sign_

_it read, 'Welcome to the end.'_

_For a dollar you could buy a girl_

_of every possible design,_

_but you couldn't find one decent man_

_or a word spoken kind._

***

 

Dean was sprawled on the cabin’s narrow bed, trying to wrap his brain around the utter fuckery that called itself the future, when the shuffle of bare feet broke him from his thoughts.Castiel stood between him and the open doorway, his toes gripping the planks of the wooden floor. The gesture seemed so unsure, so human, that Dean couldn’t raise his eyes from the ground until Cas cleared his throat.

The amusement on the former angel’s face was a twisted version of any mirth his Cas had ever shown. Dean couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

“So, I get that we share a cabin. I only saw the one bed though. Is it you or me making the rounds in the camp?”

Cas snorted and rolled his eyes—the sight, which Dean would have once paid to see, now turned his stomach. “Yeah, we both get around. Why not? Mostly though, we share.”

“Oh… _oh_.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “So you and I…” He trailed off, hoping his flailing hand gestures got the point across.

“Yeah, Dean. We fuck—quite often, in fact.”

“Huh.” Dean waited for the mental fall-out. This was Cas after all, his best friend, his very _male_ best friend. Not that he hadn’t thought about guys that way before—the angel himself had played a starring role in a few experimental imaginings—but thought and butt-fucking action were worlds apart.

Speaking of which: “Is that why you lost your mojo?”

Again the snort, the eyeroll. Dean wondered who Cas had picked up the motions from. They looked strangely familiar.

“Someone’s got quite an opinion of himself. No, Dean, I didn’t fall from Heaven for your dick. Human-angel relations aren’t exactly kosher, but hardly the cause of exile.”

“Well, then, what was it? It was to do with me, right?” Dean was still waiting for the Big Gay Panic to erupt, but his curiosity and guilt couldn’t drop this line of conversation, not while Cas seemed open to discuss it. Whatever drugs the former angel was currently on (and Dean held no illusions of his sobriety) he appeared less manic than before, a little softer behind his sardonic jibes. Dean hoped Cas’ narcotic of choice at least let him sleep at night.

“Your self-loathing can be so exhausting,” Cas muttered. He pulled his loose peasant top over his head and threw it to some unseen corner. “Budge up,” he commanded, stalking closer to the bed. “I’m laying down now.”

Wordlessly, Dean scooted against the wall. His eyes were locked on the span of naked skin before him. Humanity had allowed Cas’ skin to tan, and Dean found himself wondering what the other man would look like working shirtless and sweat-drenched in the sun. He hadn’t seen even half this much of angelic Cas, yet he knew this was most definitely not what one would find under the tax-accountant get-up. Linen pants hung low on Cas’ hips, and Dean didn’t know if it was relief or disappointment loosening his chest when his friend left them on as he climbed into bed. The hunter was fairly confident he wore nothing beneath them.

The bed forcibly reminded Dean of its not-so-platonic purpose. He turned to face the wall so Cas could join him without hanging off the edge; even then, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. After a few moments of uncomfortable shifting and muttering from behind him, Dean sighed and pulled Cas’ arm over his chest.

This should have felt more awkward, he thought. But he was content to lie there in the darkness, feeling the other man’s breathing sync to his own. Time passed, and Dean figured their conversation was done.

Then Cas began to speak.

“When the angels left, they gave me a choice: I could return to Heaven in chains and serve my time among my brothers, or I could spend the rest of my days with you—as _one_ of you. It wasn’t a hard choice.”

“Yeah, I guess anything’s better than angel jail.”

Cas huffed out a small breath against the back of Dean’s neck. “No, you idiot. They could have offered me my old rank, a total pardon, and I still would have picked mortality. I chose _you_ , you numbskull.”

Dean’s breath halted as the meaning of the words sunk in. With them came a realisation: he suddenly knew why he wasn’t freaking out about his and future-Cas’ carnal relations, why the arm slung over his side didn’t feel like a steel trap he had to gnaw his way out of.

This was _Cas_.

This wasn’t some cartoon-hearts, white picket fence love, the kind everyone else seemed to pine for but that terrified Dean more than any monster ever had. No, but it could be something else. Something unconventional in every sense, but something that could actually work. In its rush to understanding, Dean’s mind lit on the fact that he had never known epiphanies to feel so warm.

As he released the breath he’d been holding, the hunter let escape his most recent thought: “You’re never gonna leave me, are you, Cas.” A statement this time, not the question that had lurked in the back of his mind since the first of Cas’ many disappearing acts.

Strong arms pulled Dean back into Cas’ embrace. “No, never,” the fallen angel confirmed.

Dean loosened Cas’ hold on him just enough to turn over. Blue eyes (Dean swore they somehow maintained their celestial glow) met green. Cas remained still, allowing Dean to search his gaze. But it wasn’t sincerity the hunter sought—that was in abundance, had never been in doubt. Dean sifted through the myriad emotions Cas’ eyes revealed. And he found what he was looking for: beneath the exhaustion and resignation, a flicker of happiness.

With a small nod to himself, Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cas’.

If the former angel was shocked by the development, he quickly recovered. The kiss began chastely, as Dean acquainted himself with the sensation of Cas’ lips. Soon, however, he felt Cas flick his tongue across Dean’s mouth, and he opened up to the angel.

The hunter groaned as he tasted Cas for the first time. The man was smoke and whiskey, simple vice, but he was _home_. He licked deeper in his mouth, exploring the textures of teeth and tongue. Dean raised a hand to the back of Cas’ neck; his fingers toyed with the hair curling at the nape. His other hand splayed against Cas’ bare chest. The skin burned against his palm, and Dean could feel Cas’ heartbeat thrumming.

The other man followed his lead, one hand cupping Dean’s face while the other gripped his hip tightly. The possessive grasp brought another low moan to Dean’s lips. He pressed himself tighter against the warm body in his bed. He could feel Cas’ cock hot against his thigh. He pressed his leg against the hardened length; the sound that ripped from the fallen angel reverberated against Dean’s lips. Cas bucked against him, and Dean matched his movements. Clad only in boxers, he could feel pre-cum dampen the thin linen of Cas’ pants.

Starving for breath, he broke from their now-heated kiss and panted against his neck. Cas took advantage of this position to latch onto the crook of Dean’s shoulder. He worried the salt-slick skin with tongue, lips, and teeth. Dean could sense the blood rushing to the surface. The thought of his angel leaving another mark on his body thrilled something primal within him; before his brain caught up to his body, he had thrown a leg over Cas’ hip, pressing them groin to groin.

The sensation overwhelmed him to the point it took Dean a while to notice he was the only one moving. Cad had stopped ravaging his neck; his hot breath washed over the bruising skin. Mindlessly seeking to maintain the pleasure, Dean redoubled his efforts. A needy whine he would never admit to escaped him when Cas moved both hands to still his jerking hips.

“Cas. Come on, man, please. Why’d you stop?” He raised fevered eyes to his angel’s face. Lust had blown Cas’ pupils wide; his face was flushed and damp. With his arousal so evident, Dean couldn’t understand why he was stopping this. He reached up to kiss him, hoping to get back on track.

Cas met him eagerly but pulled back after a too-short moment. “Dean,” he sighed, and to the hunter the syllable seemed to physically pain the angel.

“What’s up? I thought you wanted this. I thought this is what we _do_.”

“My point exactly.” Dean had stopped moving, and Cas placed his palm back on the hunter’s cheek. To Dean, it was like a blessing. He closed his eyes, but Cas called for his attention. “Dean, you said you were going to go back to your own time and fix this.”

Dean nodded and met the other man’s gaze. Determination sharpened Castiel’s features, and for the first time in this God-forsaken future, he saw _his_ Cas, the warrior Angel of the Lord, looking back at him.

“You can stop this from happening to Sam, to the world? Stop it from happening to _me_?”

Dean was shaken, but he nodded again. He still didn’t know the right path to take—whether he should consent to being Michael’s meat puppet or just try harder to protect Sammy from himself—but Dean would be damned if he let the world, and Cas in it, fall apart this way. And Dean Winchester knew a lot about damnation.

“I promise, Cas, I’ll take care of this.” The fallen angel smiled—a wide, gummy grin—and like that, future-Cas was back. “Then save yourself for me, the old me.”

“What? Save myself? I’m no blushing virgin, Cas. And you don’t gotta buy me dinner first.”

Cas huffed, exasperation-tinged affection that Dean could live on. “I’m well aware of that, dumbass. It’s just…I’ve already had our first time. Let _him_.”

Dean knew such a statement shouldn’t make him blush when minutes ago he’d been chasing orgasm against the man’s hip; that didn’t stop the blush flooding his cheeks.

“Okay, Cas. I can do that.” He covered the answering smile with his own mouth.

If the last kiss had been lust, this was something deeper, something Dean wasn’t able, ready to put into words yet. Their lips moved slick and warm against each other, tongues darting out to taste. Dean slid his hands down Cas’ smooth sides. The muscles twitched with the former angel’s aborted little thrusts. Dean was relieved to know self-control was hard for his friend to maintain as well. Nevertheless, Cas kept space between the two and was the first to break the kiss. With a last, adoring gaze, he wrapped his arms around the hunter, resting his head on his shoulder. Dean pulled the former angel tight against him.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“For what, exactly?” he murmured with furrowed brow.

“For making sure I never exist.” Strong arms kept Dean pressed to Cas, unable to see his face. For once, he took the hint and merely rubbed his lips against Cas’ hair. The thought was harsh, but he understood, he guessed. He didn’t particularly want his future self to come about either.

Minutes passed, and Dean felt the man against him soften into sleep. Moments before the same rest took him, he murmured to the former angel softly snuffling against his collarbone.

“You may never exist Cas—not like this anyway—but I’ll promise you something: we will.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of fanfiction I've ever posted. I have others in the works, but I'd love to follow up on this one as well. 
> 
> The title and excerpt come from Murder By Death's "Rumbrave", a song for Dean Winchester if I've ever heard one.


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